{.oh happy days.}

by devourslowly

Damn damn darnation.  I missed Ian McKellen‘s Waiting for Godot.  Principally because he and his acting troupe once again refused to come up to Auckland (recall King Lear snob during the height of the Rings).  Secondly I was not up to another trip to the Windy City.  Last time I was there I got blown over TWICE and had to queue to get into Sweet Mother’s.  Not cool.

Consolation prize – another Beckett.  This time a Michael Hurst production of Happy Days with Robyn Malcolm.

H hadn’t been to a play since Jack and the Beanstalk 16 years ago.  I asked him not to broadcast it at the Herald foyer.  I was test driving my latest Louboutins and there had to be a certain degree of pretense.

Ms Malcolm looked a lot younger and fresher in person than her TV personae. Probably a good thing since youth, good health and vitality is something you would want if you are stuck under scorching sun and buried in earth.

Up close her eyes were so expressive that every time she uttered, ‘This is going to be another happy day.  Another happy day.’ I just wanted to cry.

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